Surviving after Jimmy
by Madame Apathy
Summary: What might have happened if Gary had won the fight with Jimmy, and an unlikely witness had to seek justice. T for violence and swearing.
1. Chapter 1:Gary

Since some people seem to wish that Gary had won the fight, I thought I'd write this. I also figured it would be a good chance to give an ignored character some time in the spotlight, and thus I ended up writing this. For anyone who had this on alert, I'm really sorry it took so long for me to continue this.

Disclaimer: Not my chem lab, I just like to blow stuff up in here.

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Chapter 1: Gary

The idiot had gone too far with his pathetic little game, and now there would only be one winner- me. Apparently, no one had informed Jimmy of this. Even now, as the other kids massacred each other on my command, as their hatred dyed the sky black, Jimmy Hopkins was in front of me, fumbling futily at aiming a decent punch. That pathetic hobo hadn't done a very good job with him; I could dodge his punches in a blink, duck away from his hand instantly, hit back before thinking of it. And I did. I punched. I kicked. I swore. I gloated at the sight of my smaller prizes, the pain dripping down his chin, the determination seeping from his piggy eyes, the squeals and grunts like a slaughtered animal when my fist smashed into his nose. Droplets of strawberry blood- his, of course- clattered down to the cold stone, breaking into more droplets on impact. In that moment, I knew. One more hit, and the world was mine.

Never hesitating, I placed my hands on his chest and I shoved, barely tired by his almost comical attempts at retaliation. Amazingly, his brain cell managed to piece together what was going on in time to let out a strangled shriek like the flies used to as their wings burnt away. Would his whores have liked him so much if they'd heard that noise? His pathetic face was flickered with fright in the lightning as he fell backwards, his eyes like a mouse impaled on feline claws. As I'd hoped, he tottered back, trying in vain to gain grip of something, but failing, blundering through the study ceiling with a thud, barely missing a semi -conscious Crabblesnitch. Tying him up two days before was so easy- no wonder nobody took him seriously. Grabbing the waste of genetics by the wrists, I proceeded to drag him from the room, expecting to feel a fast flood of blood below his skin. You may not know this, but that's your pulse. You know, that thing they check to make sure you're alive on those dumb TV shows? There wasn't one. Jimmy Hopkins would not bother me again.

Shit. This would mean expulsion. This could mean prison. This would mean powerlessness. This meant I was a murderer. The room spun from excitement.  
"No, Gary," I reassured myself, observing the old man, still tied to the chair. Only morons went to prison. Men who got caught. Not me. I went to the grand desk, tugging at the drawers to discover various luxuries from the rich kids' daddies; cigars, fine brandies, a loaded revolver...

Instantly, I had a plan. I grabbed a bottle of the brandy and wandered over to the headmaster , bending slightly to acheive eye contact .  
"You look bad, Dr Crabblesnitch," I observed with false concern."This might make you feel better." The old fool had been tied for a day at least without sleep or food, so he didn't need much persuading to gulp down liquid stupidity. Other students might have taken advantage, but not Gary Smith. Not the Head Boy. The second bottle went down even easier, the third effortlessly.

Very soon, the familiar signs of intoxication came into view within an hour; the bloodshot eyes, the giggling, the slurred speeches of "school spirit". Satisfied that he would remember nothing later, I checked the revolver; it was clean, polished to a shine, loaded. Crabblesnitch made it almost too easy for me to enjoy securing my reign on the school. I walked back to the old man, drinking in the head hung down, mouth slightly open due to the full effect of the alcohol. Smiling, I guided his hands onto the weapon, my finger shoving his onto the trigger once I'd aimed it at the corpse. Even dead, he looked so dumb; limp, dull skinned, nicks in his head from another fight he couldn't win, a gash dripping down his forehead like celebratory wine.

Bang. The hole widened, staining the carpet at an amazing rate.

Once I'd wiped the gun, I gently wove Crabblesnitch's finger back around it, knowing he'd be gone by the morning. Finally, taking one last look about the room, I picked up the phone and stabbed in the digits. After what seemed like decades, a female droned "Nine one one. What is the nature of you emergency?" I'd always been a good actor- Cornelius and his cross-dressing Juliet had nohing on me in that moment.  
"Ambulance and Police, please hurry. I'm at Bullworth Academy- something horrid has happened. Dr. Crabblesnitch just killed a boy." I whimpered, smiling in the knowledge I was almost off the hook. The fake tears deserved an oscar.  
"Really? Woah. Calm down, kid, someone'll be over soon." The line clicked dead.

Crabblesnitch wouldn't be coming back, so there was the final piece of shit wiped up. Smiling, I strolled over to the door, elevated by victory the way my meds could never make me feel. Rest in Peace, Jimmy!


	2. Chapter 2:Angie

Hiya! A few people asked me to continue this, so please let me know what you think. I know this is short, so bear with me. I'll try to make next chapter longer. I'm in the process of re-working my stories, so bear with me.

Disclaimer: Not my kitchen, I just like to bake in here.

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Chapter 2: Angie

The school was a bloodbath; every clique member was trying to rip someone's throat out, everyone was everyone's enemy, and casualties lay groaning in pain. The prefects? They'd vanished like a bad dream when you open your eyes. Teachers? None in sight, the only staff member present was Mr. Luntz, who if anything was thoroughly enjoying the massacre, heckling the brawling children with words of sadistic encouragement.

Rushing into the grand hall, I noticed the ape of a school bully blundering down one of the hallways after two prefects. While the two blazer-wearing seniors ran for their lives, I bounded up the staircase to the principals office.

Rat-a-tap-tap.

A moment after I moved my fist from the door, I heard a low voice moaning like a ghost in a horror movie. What was going on in there? Before the question had chance to leave my lips, a thud interrupted me. Curiosity whispering in my ear like the voice of conscience, I bent down. The keyhole gave little insight to the beautiful study with it's mahogany furniture or huge cabinets, but I saw more than enough of the room's more forbidden displays; Crabblesnitch bound to a chair with his head down, empty bottles in disarray on the floor, the school's resident psychopath holding his hands over the old man's, a still body on the floor, the gun.

Bang.

I yanked my face from the keyhole, fear ripping through my veins. I didn't see that, did I? I couldn't have seen Jimmy lying in a poor, crumpled heap on the floor like roadkill. That wasn't a revolver Gary Smith had closed the Headmaster's fingers over. That bang was just my imagination, a door slamming downstairs. Right?

A muffled voice began to float through the heavy wooden door. Trembling from the atrocity of what I'd just witnessed, I pressed my ear to the cold, uncaring door to hear what was being said.  
"Ambulance and Police, please hurry. I'm at Bullworth- Dr. Crabblesnitch has just killed a kid." Although I couldn't see through the door, I was sure that psychopath was smirking as usual- common knowledge informed me that Gary had the same love for torturing people as cats do for killing mice. More chilling still is what came next. I won't forget those words until my last breath.  
"So I guess I win, Jimmy-Boy" a callous, happy voice bragged. Oh God. The foul words oozed into my veins like icy water, petrifying me so that I couldn't drag myself from the door however desperately my mind screamed, shrieked or begged me to escape, to forget what I'd seen, to tell myself it wasn't true. I would rather have been in Happy Volts than trapped in what I'd seen.

What was I meant to do? What could I do? A student was dead. A person was slaughtered. Jimmy was gone. I couldn't tell Mom about this, but someone needed to know. I could go to the station first thing tomorrow and tell them everything. There had to be something they can do. He couldn't get away with- Oh God! Jimmy, what had he done to you? Caught up in those terrible, frighting thoughts, I didn't hear the slap of school shoes, didn't see the doorknob turn, didn't realise my safety had evaporated until the door I was leaning against vanished and the hard wood slapped my cheek as I fell.

Pulling myself, a pair of dark, cold eyes the shade of river water on a cold night glaring at me. I looked up at the face. The cruel, strange stare coupled with the scar above the boy's eye and the scorching memory of the gun made me feel as though I was staring at a mugshot. I tilted my head up slightly, catching a glimpse of the corpse's face, eternally etched into an agonised expression. Death's kiss had paled his skin, making the sinful red stream running from his temple to the carpet even more horribly apparent. Gary's gazed followed mine before turning back to me, a calculation, focused, and horribly detatched expression on his face as he read my thoughts.

This was not good.


	3. Chapter 3:Angie

Hiya. Sorry if this chapter took a while, but this is a bit of an odd one to write.

Disclaimer: Not my puppet booth, I just like to pull the strings.

Chapter 3: Angie

If you've ever imagined how a mouse feels when it's dangling from a cat's claw, that's how I felt at that moment. I would have gladly ripped my eyes out if I thought it would save me from the scene in front of me. The unfortunate boy who had once been so lively, so infuriated by life's cruelties was unmoving and silent. The rebel I'd known, talked to, kissed and maybe even loved, or at least came close to loving, was dead. The lips that had brushed mine so often before were now indigo against lily white skin. Could I ever forget that sight?

"It's horrible, isn't it?" Gary commented to no one in particular.  
"Yes," I mumbled, not daring to look at those awful, chilling eyes- the eyes of a murderer.  
"I bet you're glad you didn't see anything." For a moment I hesitated, a million voices screaming opposite orders at me. Tell him! Stay quiet! Run! Scream! He stooped to the floor, picking up a smashed whisky bottle, tossing it up in the air and catching it. "Did you see anything?" He was staring at me now, gaging my reaction, waiting to pounce. His wrist flicked towards me slightly, the remains of the bottle pointing at me, sparkling like a sharks teeth.  
"N-No! I di- I didn't!" I squeaked, pleading silently to be believed. The slight smirk on Gary's face disappeared under cold, cruel something, his eyes became fixed to one spot as he continued speaking.  
"Are you sure? Because the police will want to talk to you."  
"I-I didn't see a thing! There's no point!" Why was I shouting? When in a crisis, I'd always thought that the best course of action was to be quiet, to keep a gentle tone and try and get by.  
"Is that what you're going to say, then?" The underlying order was obvious- "don't tell the police anything". A numbness seeped through my skin with the words. Tell someone- they might not believe me. Don't tell- he'd get away with it. No justice for Jimmy. Crabblesnitch would go to prison. And who was to say Gary would start his meds again? What if the paranoia stayed, lingering in the darkness like a spider lurking in the plughole?

The light bounced off the broken bottle, winking at me.  
"Well?" There was a hint of agitation creeping into his voice. Oh God. What do I say? Thankfully, there was some small mercy weaving its way into my mind as my eyes darted around the study like the ball bearings in a pinball machine, catching sight of what he was looking at- a black block, with a lens glaring at us. The security camera! As an idea struck me, a low, loud man's voice echoed through the door.  
"Hello? Anybody here?"  
"Wait here," Smith ordered before adjusting his posture as he walked into the officers view. Shoulders stooped, he put his head down, his hands trembling slightly by his sides with impeccable acting skills. The door creaked shut behind him, leaving me unseen by the policeman.

The moment the door was shut, I stepped silently onto a chair, doing my best not to glance at Jimmy. Shoving the tape down my dress, my hand grasped the doorknob desperately. Trembling, my eyes shot to the main entrance. By some sweet mercy, Gary had his back turned to me. Clutching the banister , I slid silently down the staircase like I'd seen Jimmy do a million times before. He'd have liked that, I think. Angie Ng with the pigtails and the glasses being rebellious for once in her life. Once I was on the ground floor, my feet flew swiftly through a corridor to the fire exit, not needing to be told that the prize I was carrying was far more precious than gold.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind me as I yanked a box of chocolates from under the bed. Mandy had been lovely to get me them for my birthday, although I hadn't imagined the present would ever serve a more useful purpose. Yanking the plastic tray of chocolates out, I placed my proof in the now-empty box before shoving it under my bed, protecting it from sight by pulling the cover to drape down from the bed. For the first time since the school became a war ground, my mouth twitched into a victorious grin- whatever I, Gary or anyone else said, there was no denying the contents of that tape, especially not in court. That tape was as precious to me as the stone in David's slingshot had been to him.

Smiling in terrified triumph, my body flopped onto my bed, unable to take any more stress. Good luck to Gary talking his way out of that!


	4. Chapter 4:Gary

For anyone who had this on alert, I thought I should mention that the story has been reworked slightly. Nothing major, I've just tried to improve it here and there. I'm sorry it took so long to update, but things have been hectic of late.

Disclaimer: Not my chess board, I just like to shout "checkmate".

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Chapter 4: Gary

She'd seen it all.

I looked down at her, watching as she scrambled up.

Maybe she didn't see, I tried to tell myself. The bang wasn't _that_ loud, could have been mistaken for thunder. She could have just been coming up and not realised. Shock might have wiped her memory. All right, I was pushing it now. I'd have to say something sad, pretend I was sorry. From my knowledge of her, she was a less girly Petey- small, skinny and so simple to screw around with.  
"It's horrible, isn't it?" She wouldn't look at me , I noticed. Whatever else she did, fidgeting, fumbling, whimpering and shaking, her eyes never met mine. I didn't look at her, either. Instead, I stared at my handiwork, a slight tingle in my veins as I examined the glossed eyes like iced mints, the puppet mouth, open and wordless, the liquid victory dripping from the bullet wound. I'd really won, that was all I could think of. And I was going to get away with it, assuming I could sort out the problem of the nervous Asian girl a few steps away from me. If not, then I had just staged a perfect plan, and she, by means of merely being there, could screw it up.

For a moment, neither of us moved, two frozen figures in a shaken snowglobe. I picked up the broken bottle and, admiring the weapon in the bulb's light, I realised that the police weren't here yet- my problems were simple to solve. The ends of the smashed bottle were jagged like mountain peaks, sharp and shining like shrapnel, a drop of whisky on one of the spikes.  
"I bet you're glad you didn't see anything," I added nonchalantly. She was shaking slightly, her eyes darting about frantically to anything but me. It occurred to me that she was likely the only person who'd honestly miss that moron. Pathetic, really, both of them. The world was better without these two snivelling idiots wasting air.

"Did you see anything?" No one would miss a mommy's girl like her, no way. Perhaps I could even make it look like a suicide. My nerves danced at my cleverness, the blood rushing around me quicker than before, pride oozing into me like a drug. A girl slashing her own wrists or stabbing herself at the sight of her dead boyfriend. Perfect. Romantic, even, to some of those silly sluts at school who'd read too much Shakespeare in English. Christy would gossip for a while, embellish it, exaggerate it, but the courts would have no witness but me, a lone bishop on the board.  
"N-No! I di- I didn't!" Checkmate. Her eyes were like Jimmy's; wet, glistening with fear, the animalistic instinct for survival thrashing in the pupils. Just in case, I kept hold of the bottle- always good to have a spare pawn in case the other guy started winning.  
"Are you sure? Because the police will want to talk to you."  
"I-I didn't see a thing!" she whimpered in protest. "There's no point!" One more question to check.  
"Is that what you're going to say, then?" She hesitated, dangling on the brink of fear and insanity, her face a cellophane mask of tranquility as she stared at the late Jimmy Hopkins with a blurred blankness. What did she see in him, I wondered. Charms? None. Face? Like a potato dropped in strawberry angel delight and throw against a wall. Status? Possibly. It didn't matter now.

"Well?" Why did I have to be the only person with a brain? Not a difficult question, was it? I thought people with glasses were meant to be smart, but then again, Earnest had been like old playdough to bend to my superiority. The silence dangled like a hanging man.  
Clutching the bottle, I stepped forward silently, glad she wasn't looking at me. Now, all I needed was a decent jab at the stomach.

"Hello? Anybody here?" I hate being interrupted.  
"Wait here," I said, brushing my jumper down and adjusting to the hunched posture of a victim, arms wrapped protectively around myself. Scurrying down the staircase, I thought back to the first instance I met Jimmy. From the start, he'd been easy to manipulate. He made the same mistake lots of people make, you see- not biting the hand that feeds you poison.

A cop was waiting for me when I got down the staircase. Middle-aged, twenty years too far away from retirement, you know the sort. This was probably the highlight of his life.  
"Can you tell us what happened, kid?" he asked, a bored, blunt tone. Kid. Would it kill him to have some respect for a genius? For a moment I wanted to tell him, to prove to this bumbling old man how clever a "kid" I was. But I didn't. Pride hadn't blinded me that badly. Then again, I doubted they cared anyway- they still got paid at 5 o'clock. I willed tears to spill down my cheeks, nearly impressed by the way I made my own shoulders shake. "I... the school was a riot, mayhem. I went to the study to get Dr. Crabblesnitch and I found..." I let my voice trail off and my lip quiver. The policeman nodded, lapping it up like a dog slurping at a bowl of tap water without a thought. Wiping my face with the back of my hand like I'd seen a little kid do, I continued, hoping I wouldn't have to keep up this degrading position much longer. "I'm really sorry, Sir."  
"It's fine. Keep going, Kid," There it was again. I bit down on my tongue. He'd see soon enough.  
"I found them... there was a bang as I went up the stairs. Then I walked in and I saw Jimmy on the floor. Crabblesnitch was drunk- off his face. He pointed at me for a second- he did! But then... then he fell. I managed to get him in the chair, but he wouldn't let go of the gun. I thought it was going to go off again." God, I was good.

Without warning, a flash of green dress darted past the stairs, catching the corner of my eye. Didn't I tell her to wait in the room? Hardly a difficult task. Perhaps she was more perceptive than I thought, realised Then I noticed. In a poor attempt at secrecy, she clutched something to her chest, her hands try to cover a black, shiny object that looked a bit like a camera. The thought smashed onto my face, seeping into my skin and killing my victory.  
"Kid?" How many times? I wasn't a kid! I had a body upstairs to prove it- I had the witness status to prove it! Not victim, not suspect, witness! I was still winning after all that. And there was nothing he, or Angie, or Hopkins could do about it. It wasn't like the security tape was on or anything. Wait, was it? The blinking light was to show it was broken, right? Not that it was on. Besides, at that angle there was no proof anyway, I lied to myself, really shaking now, no longer from fake fear.

That sneaky bitch.


	5. Chapter 5:Angie

I know I don't update nearly as much as I should. Please forgive me. Anyway, I've got a few twists and turns ready for this one, so thanks to the lovely people reading this. I hope you have as much fun as I do writing this.

Disclaimer: If this was mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.

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Chapter 5: Angie

"It was Gary Smith who shot Jimmy Hopkins, Officer... Yes, Sir. One shot. I'm absolutely sure of that and I have the security tape to prove it,"  
I watched my mouth move fearfully in the reflection, my mouth opening wide as though it was choking on the whispered words. In the sanctuary of the dormitory, I heard my shaking voice gasping as though I was being strangled. My eyes were rimmed redder than cherries against skin painted white with fear, grief and worry.

How long was I repeating myself? However long it was, it wasn't nearly enough.  
"It was-"  
"Angie, are you ok?" Christy asked. When I told her I was, she simply nodded and went back to her magazine, chewing the end of her pen in concentration. Pulling my pigails down to waste time, I whispered under my breath. I'd said the words so often you'd think I was rehearsing for a play, pushing my tongue to the back of my bottom teeth to make a "y" sound so many times it almost dented the tip of my tongue. Maybe it wasn't just the police I hoped to convince as I breathed the statement.  
"Yes, Sir. One shot-"  
"What are you mumbling about?" Christy snapped, her voice bitter as dark chocolate."You've been dithering for twenty fricking minutes!"  
"It's nothing, Christy," I replied quietly, fiddling with a strand of charcoal black hair, tugging it slightly. The pain distracted me for a second before Christy continued.  
"Liar. What was it, eh? Anything juicy?"  
"I was just singing a bit, it's nothing,"  
"You, singing?" One side of her mouth stretched to a quizzical half-smile, her eyebrow slightly raised cynically. "Come on, tell me what it was." she coaxed, her witch's eyes expectant, grinning with the prospect of gossip. I could almost see drool dripping from her lips, dying them bright like the inside of a mongrel's mouth as it waited for its dinner.  
"Nothing,"  
"Tell me or else,"  
"Nothing to tell,"  
"I'll think something up, I mean it,"  
"It's nothing. I'm going out," I added before she could say anything else, putting my pigtails back up hastily. One of my bobbles fell out as I almost ran out, but I didn't bother to pick it up. Instead, I forced myself out the door, glad that Mrs. Peabody wasn't on patrol just yet. Buttoning my coat up, I patted the tape in my pocket, glad to feel its outline through my pocket, cardigan, the brown paper I had wrapped it in like a mother swaddling her baby, and finally my winter coat, which I then zipped up, trying in vain to protect myself against the night wind.

Even with all those layers, I remember it was cold, especially for a summer night. July air shouldn't have bitten at my cheeks until they were redder than a chinese flag, or raised goosebumps on my bare knees like prickly pears. For a few minutes, all I could hear was the sound of my teeth chattering before I heard the step behind me. Slow, light like a leopard's. Were they there or was I only dreaming them? Of couse not- they were just a daydream, my imagination trying to fool me. Just my nerves playing up. At least, this is what I shouted at myself, blaring out the booming.

But they were there, and they sped up. Pattering like raindrops against the dry pavement in the crisp night air. Footsteps? Denying this quietly, I shook my head. Even when they they persisted, I ignored them spinelessly. About halfway down the road, I scrimped together some courage and spun around like a ballerina in a tightly wound jewelry box. I nearly did a full pirouete from the speed. My heart smashed against my chest like a frantic sparrow in a cage, throwing itself against my ribcage. I gulped a deep breath of sharp air as I saw... nothing. Even in the black night, I couldn't see _him_. Perhaps I was going mad- I'd probably start to wake up screaming like the mad people in Happy Volts. Terrified of the sight I didn't see, I entertained the possibility that _he_ was hiding behind a wall, lurking around the corner to pounce when I had my back turned. No, Angie, I instisted, there's no one there, silly. Paranoia had festered as a result of the memory, that was all. The footsteps- were they there- were probably just a cat's or a pedestrian's, and would go away soon. I had nothing to fear. Nothing to fear at all.

But they didn't go away. They stayed behind me, each movement as steady as a ticking clock. Louder now, too, quickening like a frightened heart. I was safe, I told myself, I wasn't far now. The footsteps stayed close behind, prowling close behind me. My imagination hated me- it made me feel hot breath at the back of my neck.  
"You're safe, Angie. You're not far now. Keep going a little bit longer-"  
"That's the first sign of madness, you know,"  
Like a bad dream, there _he_ was, staring back at me with that foul look of victory.


	6. Chapter 6:Gary

I'm so sorry this took a while. I've been up to my eyeballs in work at sixth form.

Disclaimer: I am painfully aware that this belongs to Rockstar, not me.

Chapter 6: Gary

She thought she was so smart.

Do you know what the important word is in that sentence? Thought. The stupid girl _thought_ I'd let her run to the police. She _thought_ it'd go without a hitch. She _thought_ I wouldn't suspect, and that's why she left her window open. She was so smart that she didn't see me outside. Didn't even look in all that time she stood dithering in the mirror, trembling like a baby. Good thing I had one of my own to execute, if you will. Whatever trick she tried, I had a counter move. It'd take more than a snivelling, pathetic little thing like her to scare me.

She thought she was so smart. How clever of her to run out of the dorms in the shadowy night, never noticing the boy waiting for the lights to go off. You'd think she'd turn around, watch her back, take someone with her. Then she would have seen me, could have tried to run. She'd fail, of course, but you'd think she'd turn around all the same. But she didn't. Probably too busy thinking of how smart she was. That's the problem with people who think they're smart- they're usually idiots. A bit ironic, don't you think?

Take Lefty. That guy thought having a flick knife made him smart, waving it about the playground like an asshole. So full of himself, he didn't even notice me slip by his locker later on. BIKE was the code. All of them had that one, except Johnny(LOLA). The idiots didn't even seem to care that the thing was gone. Stopping for a second, I glanced at the thing, turning it so that the moonlight glinted off the handle. Turned out I was smarter than Lefty.

A moment later I was close by again, smart enough to stay a couple steps behind. Stupid as ever, she scuttled past the school gates, probably thanking God that the prefects were off duty for the weekend. Her steps hammered against the ground like a frightened heartbeat, as though she had eyes in the back of her head. She didn't, of course, and she wasn't smart enough to turn around.

She saw me this time. Went to run. So I grabbed her wrist. Dragged her off the sidewalk as I heard footsteps, pulling her out of sight just before a group of guys turned the corner, laughing and slurring vulgar jokes. Jimmy boy had been more difficult, throwing punches that actually hurt instead of feeble attempts to scratch my face. Don't know why she bothered- I was easily stronger.

If she'd been half as smart as she thought she was, she'd have given me the tape there and then. She didn't. Just whimpered like a drowning kitten. Since she looked ready to run, I kept a firm grip on her arm. Even in the darkness of the alley, she already looked like a corpse. Why did she think she had a chance? Apparently, that what she was thinking to, because she started crying. Told her to shut up. Silently, I reached into my pocket and grabbed the knife, moving my thumb over the engraved handle(a poor copy of the Lost MC logo, probably done by a friend for a few dollars, nothing fancy) until I found the little black circle that would trigger the blade.  
"You've got one... last... chance," I told her, my free hand pinning her arm to the wall. She wasn't anyone special or important. Wouldn't be missed by many, except maybe that pushy mom I heard she had. Maybe Christy would miss someone to spew bullshit to. That was about it. People died all the time.

I could almost see the thoughts swaying over her face like a pendulum. Give it to him. Don't. Give it. Don't. You'd think she'd at least have the sense to give it over straight away. She turned her head to the side, too stupid(Scared? terrified? Panicky?) to look at me when I was telling her to hand it over. Fricking brainless. Just like Jimmy. To help her along with her choice, I held the folded knife up, dangled it in front of her face and watched how her eyes went bigger than a Japanese cartoon character. To fully get the point across, I brought my hand down and pointed the handle an inch or two from her stomach. One little tap, and my problems would be over. The dominoes were already toppling in my mind, telling me all the means and methods I could use to clean up the mess; throw it in the sea, forge a suicide note, take it to the motel for Milochavitch to sort(wouldn't have been the first time he'd dealt with a body).

The tears stopped after a little while, and her very small amount of grey matter began to work. Without words or sobs, she unzipped her jacket and reached into her dress pocket. Then, just when she was finally using her head, she paused, her hand clutching the prize in her pocket as she stared into space. Looked like she'd used up her yearly quota of common sense. I glanced down at the knife, trying to remind her. Nothing. What the hell was she staring at.

My question was answered by the slap of vomit against the paving stones. Curious, I turned my head and saw them. Four stocky guys, and drunk as that homeless guy who hangs about. Whispering at her to stay quiet, I stayed still, waiting as they lumbered along the sidewalk until they were maybe three feet away like the stench of booze coming off them, laughing, bragging, snorting like morons. A drop of warm water rolling down my forehead, I ordered myself to calm down as one of them stumbled toward us, steadying himself with a hand on the wall as he moaned about how drunk he was, a chuckle escaping his mouth as he tried to pull himself together.

I wasn't scared or anything, but I froze. Shut my mouth. Turned my attention back to the stupid girl. Perhaps it would be best to just get it over with. I could just take the tape since she wasn't going to give it. It'd probably be easier still the second time round. The knife was warm in my hand, poised like a cobra. Ready to kill.

And that little bitch just had to scream.


	7. Chapter 7: Christy

Disclaimer: Bully isn't mine... yet.

Chapter 7: Christy

"Some idiot sent the police a blank tape," I'll never get Angie. I tell her that Bif's gay for Derby, she doesn't bat an eyelid. I tell her the Miss Peters is on drug- nothing. I let her in on every shameful secret that crawls out of Bullworth, and zip. But that, that innocent, simple little remark, made her look ready to cry.  
"Empty?" She said it like I'd hit her.  
"Yeah. Some sick joke, probably. Do you think it's from that stabbing the other night?"

Allow me to fill you in. There's some guy walking down the road. He's had a few. Maybe it was beer with the guys. Maybe it was cheap champagne in the hotel where he went to meet his other woman. Maybe it was whisky to steady his nerves before he goes to beat someone up for knocking his sister up. I haven't decided which I like yet. But anyway, he's walking down the road, partly drunk. Maybe he's with friends, maybe he's alone. Maybe on the way home he and his friends(if he was with friends) meet someone. Maybe a brawl ensues. Teeth and blood hit the floor. Bones snap. Someone runs or gives up. The fight ends. Maybe the dead guy won; or maybe he didn't. Either way, he keeps walking, and the possibly-there friends part ways. And he meets someone else. A lover, a dealer, a random hobo- one of the three is fairly likely. Money and sex, those are the main two reasons people fight. Money, sex, and revenge.

I'm rambling. Sorry, it's a habit of mine. I like to embellish. Fantasise. Imagine things in my head. Maybe I should skip ahead to the juicy part... Bad choice of words, I'm sorry.

The two stand and stare for a moment before one- victim or killer- speaks. An insult. Words are thrown. Punches are thrown. Our victim- I saw the picture, he was a big guy- pins his opponent. His thumbs press into the hollow of the neck. The predator is prey, writhing beneath him. He relaxes. He's winning the fight. He pushes down harder on the neck- enough to hurt the guy, but not to kill him. Enough to make him squirm and wince like an ant below a magnifying glass.

Without warning, the victim feels something cold kiss his skin. Metal. Or maybe glass. Nontheless, it bursts through the delicate skin, slits the flesh, slips into the space between two ribs. Hot blood drips from the wound and splashes against the other man's shirt, staining his clothes with the evidence of his sin. The murder smirks and withdraws his instrument before throwing it back in, this time to the stomach, about three inches down. The victims groans, a cry of pain, horror, shock, pain, but the killer isn't done with him yet. Again, the blade is thrust into flesh, stab, slit, slash. More and more blood seeps out- it only spurts if you hit an artery- and spreads, slipping onto the pavement like oil against the bottom of a pan. Organs shut down. Breathing slows from panicked panting to a defeated silence. The muscles of the dead body relax and, starting to lose rigor(did it in Biology), stiffens. There's no person there anymore. The soul flies off, invisible. The fight over, the killer pushes the body away. Perhaps there's a moment of gloating, a smirk, a kick or two before he walks on. The knife drips along the side walk as he walks away, red as hellfire. The killer goes home, cleans up, and sleeps like a log.

Shaking my head clean, I looked back to Angie and noticed she was shaking; shoulders hunched, back bent as though someone was bending her into the aeroplane position. She'd been a bit strange since Jimmy Hopkins died. Was that a tear on her cheek?  
"Angie..." She turned her head away from me.  
"Yeah?" she asked, her voice sharp. Passionately flippant.  
"Something wrong?"  
"No! No... Are you sure that the tape was blank?"  
"Yeah. Totally. Why?" It was a ridiculous thought- this is Angie I 'm talking about- but I was almost sure I heard the word "Shit". Why did it matter? Before I could ask, she sprang up as though the bed had turned to fire. "Oh... See you later, then," I huffed, flopping down on my own bed to sleep.

Angie was a ghost for a whole week. I tried to get her to talk- God knows I tried- but it was like getting blood from a stone. What the hell was wrong with her? One day she was really sick. Retching, crying, clinging-to-the-toilet-seat sick. Was she preggers? That might explain a lot- I mean, she took Jimmy's death harder than the rest of us. He was just Jimmy, to me and the others. Some guy we'd made out with when there was nothing to do. Eunice stopped eating for a little(don't laugh) and the nerds had a little trouble studying, but that was basically it. We'd done our mourning a month on.

Then again, we'd been in Biology that day. Dissection. Pinning animals to the boards in case they came alive and tried to defend themselves from our blades as we slit them open to look inside at the bulging, slimy organs glistening in the frog juices. I say "we".

Picking my scalpel up, I heard my friend gulp.  
"Don't be a wimp. It's dead anyway- you won't hurt it."  
"I can't..."  
"Fine, pass me your scalpel, we'll switch. You owe me for this one,"  
"Thanks. Christy?"  
"Yeah?"  
"You're sure that tape was blank?"  
"Yes, for God's sake." My mother would have killed me if she'd heard me taking the Lord's name in vain like that, but I couldn't help it. "I already said, didn't I?" Watching her face drop, I felt guilt burn. "Sorry. Why does it matter?"  
"I... never mind,"  
"Come on,"  
"No."  
"Please?"  
"Later," she said, picking a pen up and scribbling notes furiously. Success.  
"I'll hold you to that," I smiled, slicing open the thick, rubbery skin of the frog's stomach.

Angie was staring across the classroom when I looked up. Following her gaze, I found two brown eyes, a straight nose, a slim build, a snarky smirk and a scarred eyebrow. Gary Smith. Head Boy. Great! Maybe Angie had a crush. That might take her mind off things a bit. As my scalpel clattered against the table, she flinched, her eyes following Gary's blade as it nudged at the frog's legs and belly- stabbing motions. Suddenly, he looked up and lifted his knife an inch, pointing it at Angie like an extension of his finger. Then he smiled.

I heard the door slam behind her before I saw her move. Darting outside while Dr. Slawter's back was turned, I looked around. Sure enough, she was bent over a garbage can, her head above it, her arms shaking as she steadied herself.  
"What's with you?" I asked. Another flinch, but no reply. "Has something happened?" Silence. "Angie?" Lowering my voice a little, I reached out and tapped her shoulder. Was she going to cry. "Is something wrong?"  
"Chris... No, Chris. Nothing,"  
"It doesn't sound like nothing," "Come on. I know you better than that."

For a second she stood still before pushing herself up and pulling her shoulders back, staring into the corner.  
"You won't believe me,"  
"You don't know that,"  
"You won't." She took a deep breath and sighed loudly, making a noise like a punctured tyre. "It doesn't matter now, anyway. I can't prove it." As if prove made a difference to me. She was talking, may I remind you, to Bullworth's rumour queen. Giving her a second to think, I waited then tried again.  
"Tell me. You'll feel better."

Eventually, she her resistance broke. Turning to face me, she pushed her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, drawing my attention to the fresh selotape around one of the lenses.  
"He killed Jimmy, Chris." What? Her voice was quiet, shaky as an alarm bell's ring. "Gary Smith killed Jimmy... I saw him."

Let me just point out that Crabblesnitch had always been a disciple short of the last supper. Not sadistic or anything, like the prefects who nearly strangled you with your own tie for having an untidy uniform, but not all there by any means. Controlled crazy. Maybe that's why it was so weird that he'd killed Jimmy- I kind of expected a guy like him just to picture it.

"Oh my God. Angie, you can't be serious. That's crazy. I mean, they have Dr. Crabblesnitch in custody, they've proved it." I reasoned. Talk about a dumb thing to say. I mean I'm all for imagination, but she wasn't making sense! Maybe if they never found the body, I'd have believed her, but they did. What a sight it was, too. Pale, bloodied, bruised; dead. Definitely dead, and definitely shot by Dr. Crabblesnitch. Gary Smith found the body, sure, but he didn't force the soul from it.

Wind seeped through the window, chilling my bones. I could hear rain pattering, the sort of light rain that looks like the windows are sweating. Quieter than confessional, Angie looked around as if she'd heard the devil himself behind her.

"I'm telling the truth. Please, Christy, please believe me," 


End file.
